Alone in a Crowd
by leaysaye
Summary: Daryl is feeling lonely, and the one person who could change that turns out to be worse than his worst nightmare. Rape/non-con, Shane/Daryl, slash
1. Chapter 1

Shane Walsh was the most infuriating man Daryl had ever met in his life. Unfortunately, he had never fancied anyone as much as Shane, either.

The last few nights, lying in his tent out in the middle of the fields, feeling lonely, restless and despondent, Daryl's thoughts had invariably returned to Shane. It would always start the same way: He'd see the sneer on Shane's face as clearly as if the man was standing right in front of him. Could see the other man's disapproval of him, his judgement, the _I know your kinda scum_ look on his face.

Next, in Daryl's increasingly frantic imagination, Shane would come at him with that fierce look, that calculating gaze, zeroing in on Daryl, noting his every move, reading his every shameful thought. He'd pin Daryl down with his eyes, back him against the wall of the farm house, or the barn, or the RV, making it impossible for Daryl to move before he was even close enough to touch.

When the contact came it was hard and fast. Daryl could feel himself slammed into wood or metal, arms pinned down by his side by calloused hands. The rest was always hazy in Daryl's mind, just impressions of hands yanking at clothes, muscular limbs pressing in, cutting off air, fingers penetrating roughly.

Then Daryl would come in his own hand, always, always with a small sob, feeling ashamed. Not because he got off on thinking about another man, but because even in his own fantasies he was only ever good enough to be hurt.

_._

"Why're ya followin' me?"

Daryl could feel the other's gaze prickling on his neck, but didn't look around. His heart was beating fast, and he had to fight the urge to just bolt and run. He could hear Shane sigh.

"Rick said to keep an eye on you so you wouldn't pull any more stupid ass shit, and since you won't stay put I have to trek around this fucking forest after a fucking piece of redneck scum. Ain't my idea of fun, either."

Daryl's face burned, he could feel tears prickling in the corners of his eyes. He was used to being sneered at by cops, dismissed as a piece of trash. But to not be trusted out alone in the woods, when this was where he knew what he was doing, the only place he'd ever felt at home, was hurtful. He blinked away the impending tears and tried to put Shane out of his mind, concentrating on the ground in front of him.

After ten minutes he knew it was no good. He stopped, waited for Shane to catch up. When the other man stopped about fifteen yards away he half turned.

"If ya gotta come with, at least don' stomp around like a fuckin' grizzly."

Shane snorted, covering the remaining distance between them. "Don't take that tone with me, you piece of shit." Shane was clearly playing cop, and to Daryl that only left one role for him to assume. He turned around fully, looking at Shane directly, willing him to get angry.

"You clever city cops, y'all have no fuckin' clue, d'you? No idea how to find one little girl, but you gotta butt in an' make sure no one else finds her, neither…"

Next moment Daryl was transplanted into his nightly fantasy. His back slammed into a nearby tree, shoulder blades digging hard into the wood. Daryl let out a surprised gasp, struggling to get free. Just as in his imagination large, strong hands pinned his arms down by his side. The grip was much rougher than in Daryl's fantasy, and Shane's fingers encircled his wrists like iron, held his hands down hard.

"You like that, huh? This what you dream about, out there on your own?"

It was as if Shane had been reading his mind. Panic bubbling up now, Daryl doubled his efforts to get free, but Shane was too strong. He closed the last remaining inches between them, pressing his body hard against Daryl.

"I see how you look at me, Dixon." Shane's voice was husky, but there was no warmth to it. "I know what those looks mean, I get them all the time, from women, men…" He put his face very close to Daryl's.

"I am not picky, you see. Normally I don't go for rednecks, but I'll make an exception here, to teach you a lesson, if nothing else."

Daryl had stopped struggling. He could feel Shane's erection press against him, and he could feel his own body responding. He didn't want it to, was not prepared to let this happen for real, but Shane was too strong, he couldn't pull away.

With a sudden movement Shane stepped back, twisting Daryl's arm hard and forcing him to turn around. Daryl couldn't suppress a small outcry as a searing pain shot through his shoulder, his arm uncomfortably pinned against his back. Shane slammed him into the tree hard, Daryl's chest and temple making sudden contact with hard wood.

Daryl could hear a zipper being pulled down behind him, and the heavy drop of Shane's police belt on the ground. Shane pressed in again, his arousal unmistakable. He reached a hand round the front of Daryl and unbuttoned his pants. Daryl was too stunned to really struggle now, but he wanted to be away from this more than anything. At the same time his own erection was pressing into the tree painfully.

There was one none too gentle yank and Daryl's pants and boxers pooled around his knees. Daryl didn't think Shane would bother with any foreplay, but he was wrong. He could feel the other man's breathing on his neck, and then lips and teeth, exploring, warm and wet.

Then Shane bit down hard, and Daryl cried out with surprise as much as with pain. In his fantasies Shane sometimes bit him, too, but the reality was a lot more painful and a lot less pleasant. The next bite came on the biceps of the arm Shane still held twisted in an iron grip.

"No. Shane, what…"

Ignoring Daryl's pleading Shane obviously decided that he needed both hands now, and that Daryl wouldn't fight back any longer. He let go of Daryl's arm, and Daryl brought it round front, cradling it to his chest and hissing when the pins and needles hit.

Daryl could hear Shane spitting into his hand. He knew what was coming next, and braced himself against the tree. He could feel Shane's hands on his ass, spreading him apart. Next, there was a finger pressing against his opening, and Daryl sucked in air with a hiss.

Shane's finger entered, none too gently, but bearable. Daryl tried to relax, tried to accommodate the intrusion, but Shane gave him no time to get used to the sensation. A second finger entered, and then a third, and Daryl briefly lost track of things as the pain narrowed his universe down to a single point.

The fingers kept exploring, and Shane pressed close to Daryl again. He could feel his hot breath, and he could hear the malice in Shane's voice. "You enjoy that, yeah? Like a good little redneck whore."

Daryl dropped his head and hid his face against the tree. The truth was that his body was responding just like it did in his fantasies. He was powerless to control himself, and the shame of it all burned a scar deep into his heart.

There was more spitting behind him, then the fingers withdrew. Daryl only just suppressed a whimper of disappointment at the sudden loss of contact. But then he could feel Shane's cock press against him instead, and his longing for contact turned back to terror.

Shane entered him without any regard to Daryl's comfort. This time, Daryl's cry was much louder, as pain shot up through him like lightning, setting his spine and pelvis on fire. Suddenly a hand was on his throat, squeezing hard.

"Be quiet, Dixon, or you'll regret it. Understood?"

Daryl nodded, not getting enough air to be able to speak. The hand on his throat slackened somewhat and Daryl gasped. Shane did not take his hand away, however, and instead pulled Daryl backwards into his chest, as he thrust into him again and again. To stop from screaming again Daryl bit his lower lip until it bled.

Shane's thrusts became faster, the breathing against Daryl's neck ragged. Daryl reached for his own erection, to take his mind off the pain as much as anything else, but Shane noticed and let go of Daryl's neck. Instead, both hands closed on Daryl's wrists again and forced his hands above his head. He now pushed Daryl back against the tree, until his entire body was pressed against the bark, hands pinned in place.

"You will not get yourself off, Dixon." Shane's voice was more menacing than ever. "This is punishment, not pleasure."

And he pushed into Daryl harder and deeper than before, making the other man whimper with renewed pain.

Daryl could tell it wouldn't be long now. Shane's thrusts were becoming more and more frantic. He blinked away tears and closed his eyes, willing his mind to go blank.

With a shudder and a groan Shane pushed in one more time with all his strength, then was still, letting the ecstasy wash over him. Daryl could feel the other's cock pulsing inside him for a few more seconds, then there was one last stab of pain as Shane pulled out.

Daryl was suddenly free of Shane's body and hands. He didn't move for a minute or so, waiting for the ripples of pain to die away.

"C'mon. Let's get back."

Shane's voice was gruff but no longer full of malice. Daryl reached down to pull his pants up, noticing that he was still hard. It was painful to adjust himself back into his clothes, but after the onslaught his body had just suffered the discomfort was hardly worth noticing. When he'd buttoned his pants and turned around Shane had already started walking back into the direction of the farm.

Daryl followed slowly at a distance.


	2. Chapter 2

Daryl half dreaded, half anticipated night falling that day. He knew that Shane would come to his tent, and he knew he didn't have long to wait.

He'd kept to himself that afternoon, but since he did so most of the time nobody noticed anything. Rick hadn't even spared him a glance when they'd come back, had only looked at Shane, and the other man's terse _Nothing_ had not elicited a response.

Daryl lay on his cot, rubbing his wrists which were still smarting from Shane's grip. There were finger shaped bruises around both of them, and Daryl had walked around wearing his jacket for most of the afternoon, which also served to hide the bite on his upper arm. He'd better find a shirt with sleeves for the next day, it was really too warm to walk around with the leather jacket.

He'd just gotten up and was crouching down by his bag to rummage for a shirt – the kneeling was painful, Shane had been rough enough to make him bleed – when he heard footsteps outside. At least, Daryl thought wryly, it was unlikely that the man could ever sneak up on him. Not with that tread of his.

Daryl stayed where he was, not looking round. He heard the canvas rustle, then the presence of someone just behind him.

"I like you on your knees, Dixon."

The voice was Shane's, but it wasn't the Shane the others knew. It was the Shane that had slammed Daryl into a tree that afternoon, the malicious, hateful Shane. Daryl stayed down, but half turned his head.

"Don' need t'do it like that. I'll let you fuck me, you don' have t'force me."

"Good." The tone told Daryl that it was not good, but he didn't challenge Shane. Instead he turned round, starting to get up.

"Stay on your knees," Shane said. "I want you to suck me off."

Daryl nodded. It didn't bother him, he didn't even mind Shane talking to him the way he did. He was used to abuse, and somehow the familiarity of it was almost comforting. He swiveled round on his haunches and beckoned Shane closer as he dropped back to his knees. Daryl didn't look up, he thought he'd have more of a chance of keeping Shane just this side of angry if he remained completely unchallenging.

Shane stepped closer and Daryl started undoing the fly and buttons of Shane's pants. He'd left the cop belt off, and Daryl was quickly able to pull away pants and boxer shorts. Shane's dick was almost fully hard already, and Daryl closed his hand around it. The touch of warm skin actually made his own dick react, and he hated himself for feeling so desperate for contact that he actually consented to be treated like garbage.

A hand clamped down on top of his as Daryl started to stroke Shane's erection. Daryl still didn't look at the other man.

"If I feel any teeth you'll be sorry."

Daryl nodded again.

He stroked Shane a few times until he was fully hard, then lowered his head and took the other man in his mouth. The sound Shane made, somewhere between exhalation and a small moan had an effect on Daryl's own growing erection, and he felt sick with himself. If giving his tormentor pleasure turned him on, then surely he had nobody to blame but himself if Shane kept coming back for more.

Daryl increased the pace. Suddenly he just wanted this to be over with as quickly as possible, finish himself off and go to sleep. Forget about this day. Shane was panting now, and Daryl adjusted his rhythm based on the frequency of grunts and moans from above.

Then suddenly he felt himself flung across the tent, hitting the stool that served as his bedside table and hearing the hurricane lantern clatter to the floor. The light spun wildly across the small space and when it came to rest the tent was bathed in an eerie half-dimness. Daryl, struggling to get his bearings, looked up. Shane was towering over him, and while he couldn't make out his expression properly in the gloom Daryl thought he saw Shane's eyes flash like shards of ice.

"I told you, no teeth." Shane's voice was terse, and its coldness chilled Daryl to his core. Daryl was sure that his teeth had not touched Shane, that this was an excuse for Shane to get brutal again.

Daryl tried to scoot away, but Shane was too quick, too well trained in hand-to-hand altercations. He was on top of Daryl in a flash, rolling him onto his side, then his front while at the same time catching his arm in that vice-like grip again.

Daryl hardly knew how he'd gotten into that position. One second he was on his back, frightened, the next, on his front, terrified out of his wits. He could feel Shane yanking hard on his pants, not even bothering with the button this time. Daryl could feel it popping off beneath him, his pants and underwear sliding down, and tried to buck, or squirm, or do anything to dislodge Shane, but nothing he did had any effect.

"Hold still, or I swear I'll make this worse for you than anything you've ever experienced."

Shane's voice was right by his ear, the warm breath tickling the back of Daryl's neck. He could smell alcohol on the other man.

"Will you stay quiet?"

Daryl gritted his teeth but knew he had no choice.

"Yes."

Shane's hands disappeared from his back for a moment, and the weight shifted. Strong fingers dug into his bare hips and Daryl winced. He felt Shane pull him back, arranging him for better access. Then, with another shift, Daryl felt the now familiar pressure of Shane's cock. He realized there wouldn't even be spit as lube this time.

"No, Shane, please… I'll do anythin', y'can fuck me, I promise, jus' don't…"

Daryl hardly knew what he was saying, he just wanted to stop this from happening. He broke off with a sharp cry when Shane, deaf to his pleading, roughly entered him all at once. Daryl felt like he was being torn in half, the pain was like nothing he could ever remember. It was worse than his pa taking the belt to him. At least that had been on the outside; now he felt as if not only the skin on his back but all over his body had been flayed until nothing was left but pure agony that flooded him from head to toe.

It couldn't have lasted long, what with Shane so aroused already, but to Daryl, every thrust bringing new agony, time seemed to slow down. He buried his face in his arms, biting down on the sleeve of his jacket so as not to cry out and make Shane even more angry. He kept his eyes closed, just concentrated on breathing and not fainting.

Finally, Shane arched back, the pressure of his body disappearing for a moment, only to slam back down and pinning Daryl more completely under him.

Daryl stayed motionless. Shane was heavy on top of him, to the point that breathing was difficult. But the feeling of the other's body helped him focus on the reality, the terrible truth this day had brought.

_._

When Shane had finally left, hoisting himself up and disappearing without so much as a word, Daryl had stayed down for a long time. He felt too sore to move, too broken inside for anything but lying still, willing the memory to fade, his body to forget.

Finally, feeling the semen and blood slowly running out of him and down his thighs and pooling under him, he'd become too disgusted with himself to stay down any longer. Getting gingerly to his feet, finding a torch and some reasonably clean clothes to change into he'd gone off to the pump that was located at the other side of the field in which he'd pitched his tent. The urge to wash Shane off him, his smell, his cum, was so strong he stumbled several times as he hurried across the uneven grass.

Daryl filled the bucket by the pump with water and stripped off all his clothes. The field was deserted and he was too far away to be visible from the camp. The moon was nearly full and the night was bathed in ghostly light.

He poured most of the first bucketful over himself after splashing his face, then filled it again. The cold water was soothing on his heated skin.

Daryl winced when he put his hand between his legs, and then reached behind. It was too dark to see the blood and Shane's spunk rinsing away, but he could feel both coating his fingers. He rinsed again and again until the cold water was starting to make his abused body feel sore.

He toweled off, shivering now, and pulled on the cleaner clothes. The smell of sex, blood and Shane on the other garments almost made him gag and he crumpled them up into a ball. He would not even bother washing them, just burn them in the morning.

_._

Back in his tent Daryl sank gingerly onto his cot. Everything ached now, especially the shoulder Shane had twisted so cruelly twice that day. Daryl lit a cigarette with shaking fingers and lay back on the pillow.

He still couldn't process what had happened, what he had let Shane do to him, not just once but twice. He felt sick to his stomach and had to concentrate hard on his breathing for a while to prevent adding puking in his tent to the indignities of the day.

However much he thought about what he should do next he drew a blank. How could he prevent Shane from waltzing back in here the next night, and the one after, and the one after that? He couldn't tell anyone, none of them would understand. They would think he had asked for it, that he should have fought harder, that it was his fault.

And, Daryl thought, they would be right. Why did he let it happen twice? True, once Shane had slammed him to the floor his body had no longer reacted with pleasure and even the penetration had not brought on an erection. But before that, and definitely in the forest earlier he had gotten aroused, despite the pain.

Daryl had been staring motionless into space for so long that the cigarette in his hand had burned down almost to the filter. Some of the ash had fallen down on his shirt and he now contemplated the red spark in the dark. Without thought he lifted his left arm, pushed the sleeve up and pressed the still burning cigarette tip against the tender inner skin of his arm, just below the elbow.

This had been his preferred spot for crowding out the pain his pa and Merle had inflicted on him when he was a kid. He'd steal his pa's lighter, spark a flame, let it burn for a bit and then hold the hot metal against his arm until the heat dissipated. He'd started using cigarette butts almost as soon as he started smoking, and sometimes had tried razor blades, pins and even shards of glass.

He had used the self-inflicted pain whenever the verbal and physical abuse from his pa got too much, and later, when Merle had started pushing him around, cursing him, messing with his head, he'd escaped to it even more frequently. Somehow, the pain caused him by brother and father had not been enough. He'd had to add his own agony, to convince himself that he was really, truly worthless.

Daryl dug out his lighter again and flicked it on. He let it burn almost until his thumb went to sleep, then pressed the hot metal to his arm, right on top of the fresh cigarette burn. He felt so numb, it took several seconds for the pain even to register.

When it finally hit home he hissed but didn't pull the lighter away. He kept it pressed against his arm while tears welled up and started running down his cheeks. When the lighter had lost all heat he let it drop to the floor and turned over on his side. Cradling the burned arm he stared at the canvas wall without seeing it.

It was daybreak before Daryl finally dropped off to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Lori stuck her head through the door of the RV, looking around.

"Carol, got anything that needs washing? I've set up the tub, I can take on a bit more."

Sitting at the table, Carol shook her head. "Not me, no. You might want to check on some of the men, they seem to get their stuff filthy within five minutes of putting it on."

Lori made a face. "Just like Carl, when he was a toddler." She considered. "I might offer Daryl a hand with his, I don't think anyone else remembers he's even here most of the time."

Carol nodded. "That's a nice thought, Lori. He's been so good about looking for Sophia, and I don't feel I can do anything to thank him. Not right now…" Her voice trailed off and Lori saw a tear running down her cheek.

"Don't worry about it, Carol. You can thank him when they find her. Daryl's getting ready to go off with Andrea just now. I'll see if I can catch him before he goes."

Lori gave Carol what she hoped was an encouraging smile and withdrew. She hurried through their camp and on down the lawn towards the field where Daryl had put his tent. She thought it looked deserted when it came into view, but she continued anyway. Maybe he was inside, changing.

When Lori reached the tent she could see that the flap wasn't closed all the way. She tried to peer through the gap.

"Daryl? Are you in there?"

There was no response, but a small pile of crumpled clothing was just visible through the gap in the canvas. Lori sighed and crouched down. These guys really were like kids, or worse, teenagers, dropping their dirty clothes where they stood and expecting the women to pick up after them. Still, she had as good as promised Carol she'd do something nice for Daryl. Lori unzipped the canvas flap a few more inches, extracted the clothes and added them to her basket.

_._

In the shadow by the house Lori put down her basket next to the tub with water she'd set up earlier. She sighed and regarded the pile of clothing. It was no fun washing anything by hand, but in cold water, too? This small amount of stuff would take her the rest of the day.

She decided to sort through and find the dirtiest pieces first, so she could wash them while she still had the strength. Lori picked up Daryl's bundle and shook out what looked like a shirt and pants. A pair of boxers fell to the floor, and embarrassed for a moment Lori regretted ever going near Daryl's stuff. What would he think when he realized that a virtual stranger had washed his underwear?

Lori rolled her eyes at herself. She was a married woman, she'd seen plenty of male underwear and washed a fair few of them in her life. Ok, mostly they had been Rick's, but… she lost her train of thought when she looked down at the pants and shirt in her hand and something caught her eye.

She shook both items out again to take a closer look. There were rust colored stains on the bottom front of the shirt, matched by identical stains on the pants around the fly. Also, Lori noticed, the button was missing from the pants. She looked more closely. Was this blood? As far as she knew Daryl hadn't hurt himself recently, and these didn't look like splatters from killing a walker. They were in an odd location, too.

The stains seemed strange in other ways, too. Lori looked more closely. The fabric seemed oddly stiff, and something was definitely mixed in with the blood. Suddenly realizing what she was looking at Lori almost dropped the clothes.

This was dried semen. Now she felt properly embarrassed. This was of course also nothing Lori hadn't seen before, but this time it had really always been Rick's. Daryl would be rightly furious with her if she washed these particular clothes. Balling them all up carefully again, and bending over to retrieve the boxer shorts from the ground Lori froze. There was blood on the underwear, too, and it looked like a lot, even dried.

She could understand the spunk, and she could have dismissed the blood as an oddity if it was only on the outside of Daryl's clothes. But this much blood on the boxer shorts must mean that it had come from Daryl himself. And what would make him bleed that much down there?

Slowly Lori wrapped the items into each other like she had found them, lost in thought. She would have to go and speak to Daryl when he came back. She could not ignore this kind of thing, not in someone from their group, not even Daryl, who preferred to keep himself to himself. She placed his things back in the basket and started doing the rest of the laundry.

_._

Lori kept an eye on Daryl during dinner that evening, when they were as usual grouped loosely around the fire, each with their plate or bowl, enjoying an unusually nice stew Dale had made. She noticed that Daryl kept to the outskirts of the group as usual, not looking at anyone, facing outwards and keeping his eyes on his plate. Lori noticed that he wasn't really eating, just pushing the food around a bit.

She also noticed something else, though Lori was sure that she was the only one who did. Shane and Andrea had gone off to shoot at targets and were late getting back. When they finally joined the rest Daryl threw one look in Shane's direction and leapt to his feet. Lori thought she saw him trying to cover up the sudden startled movement by placing his plate very slowly onto the log he'd just been sitting on, not letting Shane out of his sight for a second.

When he'd straightened up again Daryl started moving away slowly. Lori was sure he was trying to avoid attracting anyone's attention, and had she not been primed to watch out for something unusual she was sure she would have missed this just like the rest of the group. As it was Lori noticed that the further away Daryl was the faster he was walking, until he was almost running towards his tent.

Shane, who hadn't looked at Daryl once since joining the group with Andrea did look up when Lori got to her feet now. She thought he looked at her strangely, and a terrible thought occurred to her. Lori put her own plate on the seat where she'd been sitting with Carl.

"Stick close to your dad," she told her son. "I'll be back real soon."

Lori moved over to their tent in the shadow of the trees and retrieved the bundle of Daryl's clothes she'd hidden there earlier. She moved away quickly from their camp, her mind racing.

Could it be that Sean… She would have liked to say _No, of course not_ categorically, but the truth was that she knew what Shane could be like when he was in a rage. She had thought he would rape her back at the CDC, and he probably would have if she hadn't fought tooth and nail.

But why wouldn't Daryl have fought him, too? He should have had an easier time getting the upper hand than Lori. But she scolded herself instantly for these thoughts. Men were raped every day even before the dead had started walking again, and male rape victims were no more at fault for it happening to them than a woman was.

Lori quickened her step. She had to get to the bottom of this, and then they had to put a stop to it.

_._

She called out when she was about twenty yards from Daryl's tent.

"Daryl, it's Lori. Can I talk to you for a sec?"

There was movement inside, then the rustling of the tent flap, and Daryl appeared. He was wearing a shirt with sleeves today, which Lori couldn't remember seeing on him ever before. Usually he wore shirts with the sleeves ripped off, or tank tops.

"Everything a'right?"

Lori wasn't sure how to start. Instead of speaking she held out his things.

"I was doing laundry today, and I went round to people to ask them if they had any that needed doing. When I came round here…"

Daryl advanced on her, looking furious, and cut her off. "Why'd you touch my stuff?" he demanded. He ripped his clothes from Lori's hands and turned away abruptly. "Leave, now. And never, ever," the last spat over his shoulder, "touch m'things again!"

"Daryl…" Lori began again, but he rounded on her.

"I said, leave. I mean it." His eyes looked daggers at her, but Lori thought she could see something else as well. Looking at Daryl now she was reminded of a wild animal, backed into a corner. Daryl's eyes were full of rage, and fear.

He turned away again and went back into his tent, closing the flap behind him. Lori stood for a moment, stunned. Then she turned and walked back to camp.

There was only one thing she could do now, and that was to talk to Rick.

_._

Lori didn't get a chance to speak to Rick that night. When she got back to the fire he was sitting up with Shane, discussing something animatedly. Lori didn't want to draw attention to herself in front of Shane so she went back to their tent with Carl and got him ready for bed.

She was deep in thought throughout, and even Carl noticed that she was distracted.

"Are you all right, mum?"

Lori smiled automatically. "Of course, just tired."

She hadn't really paid much attention to Shane since they'd arrived at the farm. She tried to keep her distance, because she knew how angry he still was, and she had seen some of his obsessive rage already. Now it looked like he'd found another outlet for the hate that she'd sensed in him before.

Lori was sure her hunch was correct. Daryl's behavior made no sense otherwise. He'd always been friendly to her, and she'd started to quite like having him around. And he'd been the one who had made the most effort trying to find Sophia. They had to help him. Lori shuddered now when she thought of what she had seen. There had been so much blood…

Finished with Carl Lori started undressing. She was feeling tired all of a sudden, and she could wait for Rick just as well lying down. Once inside their sleeping bag, however, she realized that this might have been a mistake. She could hardly keep her eyes open. With any luck Rick would be in soon, it was getting late. But before she'd even reached the end of that thought Lori fell asleep.

_._

She woke up from the birds making a racket. Lori opened her eyes, but the tent was empty. Sitting up quickly she disentangled her legs from the sleeping bag and got up. She opened the tent flap, and to her relief Rick was standing near the now cold fire pit. Shane was nowhere in sight.

"Rick," she called, not wanting to step onto the ground outside, which was covered in pine needles, without first putting shoes on. Rick looked round and she motioned to him. He came over, looking puzzled.

"Where's Carl?" Lori asked.

Rick motioned up to the RV. "Up top with Dale. What's up? I am about go out looking for Sophia."

"I need to talk to you for a moment." Lori withdrew into their tent, and Rick followed. Once inside she faced him.

"Rick, I think we've got a problem. Shane, he…" but she didn't know how to continue. Rick looked at her quizzically.

"What about him?"

"I think he's doing something… something bad," she finished a bit lamely.

Rick looked at her with full concentration now. "Did he touch you, or Carl?"

Lori shook her head. "No, we're fine. Rick, I… I think he raped Daryl."

For a moment Rick looked confused, then the look turned to alarm. "How do you know? Tell me really quickly."

Lori recounted to Rick what she'd see on Daryl's clothes, and how he had reacted when he saw Shane, and when she'd gone to talk to him.

Rick listened to her, then went over to a corner and rummaged in their bags. He pulled out a large knife and turned back to her.

"Shane's gone out after Daryl really early. Told me Daryl had snuck off again without telling anyone, said he'd keep an eye on him." He looked at Lori on the way out of the tent. "I told him to make sure to give Daryl a telling off so he learns his lesson this time."


	4. Chapter 4

The night had been bad. After Lori had left Daryl had sat on the floor in his tent for a long time, shaking. Why did she have to pry, why rummage around his things? Now they would all know. How could he ever be among them again? They would all know how weak he was, how he'd been unable to control himself, and prevent Shane using him.

Lori had meant well, Daryl knew that. She hadn't come to him to tell him how disgusted she was, or that she thought Shane had been right to do what he did. But that was where she was wrong, and they all would be.

Daryl knew it was his fault that things had gone this far. He knew how sick and twisted all this would sound to any normal person. Hell, he'd enjoyed it. He'd gotten off on the fantasies of Shane being rough, and had led him on by complying so easily out in the woods. He'd had it coming. And now he had no idea how to make it stop.

One good thing that had come out of Lori's visit was that Shane didn't turn up that night. At least Daryl suspected that was the reason he'd not been back. Or maybe he'd simply already tired of Daryl.

Despising himself for even thinking it, despite everything that had happened, a very small part of Daryl was disappointed that Shane didn't show up.

_._

Daryl had snuck away from the camp early the next morning. He knew Rick wouldn't like it, but the thought of being told to go out with Shane again was too upsetting. If he went alone he'd be able to concentrate on actually searching for Sophia instead of waiting for something bad to happen.

The day before he'd stayed on the farm. He'd helped T-Dog with the fences, simply to avoid being forced to go anywhere with Shane. T-Dog was easy company, even for Daryl, and they'd spent a day speaking very little, which had been restful. He'd not laid eyes on Shane all day, until the evening when he'd been stupid enough to show his fear and Lori had followed him.

The woods around Hershel's farm were beautiful. Daryl felt at peace for the first time in days. He paid close attention to the trails he detected all around him. and that kept his mind occupied nicely. No intrusive thoughts about Shane and his hands bruising him had disturbed him since he'd set off. Unfortunately, nothing he'd seen so far had looked remotely like the traces left by a little girl.

Just ahead, about 50 yards away, there was a small dirt road cutting through the trees. Daryl intended to cross it and continue into the woods on the other side. He'd been around this area once before but slightly further north, and that time he'd spotted a stream the was running not far beyond the road that he thought might be worth checking more closely.

Daryl's mind was on the tracks he tried to discern on the ground, with half an eye on the lookout for walkers. He didn't notice the car parked in the middle of the road, and who was leaning against it, until it was too late.

Shane looked utterly relaxed, half perched on top of the bonnet, not twenty yards away. He looked at Daryl with something like amusement.

"Didn't think I could track you, eh, Dixon? I might be shit in the forest, but I do know how to track men."

Daryl couldn't move, could hardly breathe. How could he have been so stupid? He'd been concentrating so hard on the search, and on walker threats, he'd almost forgotten what the real threat for him had been the last few days. He considered briefly just to run, but what would be the point of that? Unless he didn't return to the farm he'd never be able to avoid Shane for long.

Instead, Daryl decided to try and reason with Shane. "Sorry I went off on my own like that, shouldn' have. Y'can come along if y'want. Jus' needed some space…"

Shane interrupted him. "We're not going to look for Sophia, Dixon. You know as good as me that she's dead. We've had enough of that bullshit." He motioned to Daryl to come closer. "Get in the car, we're going back."

Even though being in a car with Shane was the last thing he wanted now Daryl moved towards him. He would do almost anything that man asked of him, just to keep Shane calm enough so he wouldn't hurt him again.

That plan had not worked so far, and it didn't now. As Daryl stepped within reach of Shane who had turned to open the passenger side of the vehicle the other man took a swing at his head. Shane was too fast for Daryl to dodge. He had been prepared for Shane to try something in the car, or even to slam him against the hood, but this was something new.

Shane clearly knew how to put someone out of action with very little effort. His fist hit Daryl's temple and Daryl crumpled to the ground almost before he knew something had hit him in the head. It took him a good thirty seconds before he could make sense of the world again.

Daryl blinked away the lights dancing before his eyes, while attempting to get up, but Shane wasn't having any of it. He loomed over Daryl when the lights finally dissipated, and placed a foot firmly in the middle of Daryl's chest.

"Shane, what…"

"You aren't going anywhere, Dixon, until I've taught you a lesson. You were told not to wander off on your own, but you did it anyway. We can't have that. This is not a democracy, you either play by our rules, or you leave."

The look in Shane's eyes was utterly insane. With a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach Daryl realized that nothing he did now would change what Shane had planned for him.

Daryl was used to feeling powerless, but even when he'd hung around with Merle, or when he'd wanted to get away from his pa, he'd usually found a way. He'd disappear into the woods for days on end. Those times had been the most peaceful he could remember.

Now, though, he had no choice. Being on your own was simply not an option in this world. There were too many dangers lurking everywhere, and even if he managed to survive most of them, some threat would get him eventually, and sooner than later. Still, Daryl wasn't sure he could stand this much longer.

Shane shifted his weight and the pressure on his chest increased. Daryl found that it was getting hard to breathe. Certain it would do nothing but aggravate Shane further, but unable to just lie there and take it Daryl tried to reason again. "Shane, let's jus' go back. 've learned m' lesson, promise. Y're hurting me, and…"

The kick came without warning. The pressure on Daryl's chest vanished, but was immediately replace by sheer agony as Shane kicked him hard in the ribs. Daryl was sure he could feel, and hear, bones crack. The next kick caught him hard in the side before he could as much as move. It landed somewhere around kidney, and Daryl cried out as pain shot through his entire abdomen.

He curled up, trying to scoot away from Shane at the same time, but his back hit the front tyre of the car and he was virtually pinned in place. Kick followed kick, most but not all deflected by his arms and legs which he'd pulled around himself in self-preservation. One blow painfully caught his right hand and again Daryl thought he felt something snap.

Next, Shane stamped hard into the hollow of his knee. One kick caught his shoulder and another hit Daryl against the temple which made him see stars again.

Finally the kicking stopped. Daryl was too dazed to react at first, and the next moment felt himself being rolled onto his front. He knew what was coming next, but could do nothing but brace himself. Rough hands pulled his pants and boxer shorts down in one yank, but all Daryl could think about was how Shane had not said a word since he'd started his assault. Daryl didn't even think Shane saw him as a person now, he was just a punch bag, a thing Shane used to take out his frustrations on, whatever they might be.

"Shane!"

The voice was loud in the silence all around them. Daryl didn't have to look to see who it was. The hands that had just been busy on his hips disappeared. Daryl still didn't move, or look up. This was worse, this was so much worse.

Rick's voice was cold with anger. No, Daryl thought, this was more than anger, it was rage, barely controlled, but blessedly, at that moment, not directed at him.

"What do you think you are doing?"

"I am teaching the redneck a lesson, _just as you asked_."

Shane's voice was full of hatred, and Daryl was amazed when he realized that this was not directed at him, either. He lifted his head a few inches off his arms where he'd been hiding his face and chanced a glance in Rick's direction. Rick's face betrayed his disgust, and disbelief.

"And you really thought I meant like _this_?"

Rick gestured at Daryl on the ground. He hardly glanced at him, though. Daryl could feel his eyes fill with tears. He knew what he had to look like to Rick, with his pants down, lying on the ground. A grown man like him, unable to defend himself against a raging lunatic. And liking it all, to boot.

"Leave, Shane. Now. And if I see or hear anything like this ever again, you'll be sorry."

Shane didn't reply. Instead he stepped around the car and got in. Daryl hurried to get out of the way of the wheels just in time. The car splattered him with dust and stones, but that hardly mattered now.

And then Rick was by his side. He crouched down next to where Daryl was still lying, trying to put his clothes back in order.

"Can you get up? You'll never manage this lying down."

Daryl nodded and Rick helped him to his feet. Daryl couldn't put pressure on his right leg where Shane had kicked him so hard. His hands were shaking and he stumbled when he tried to close his fly and buttons. Looking down at himself brought the dizziness back.

Rick caught him before he could fall down. He helped him wordlessly to put his pants in order, then supported him over into the shadow of a tree.

"Sit."

Daryl did as he was told. It was difficult to lower himself to the ground, every bit of him was sore. When he was seated he leaned against the tree, trying to shift his weight into a position that didn't aggravate his injuries. Rick looked at him with sympathy when Daryl looped his arm around his middle, cradling his sore ribs. The pain was bad, and he found it difficult to breathe.

Rick sat on the ground next to him and inspected his head, but didn't meet his eyes. Daryl could feel blood running down from his temple. There had to be a lot, he could already see it soaking into the front of his shirt.

"Did he break something?" Rick sounded concerned, rather than disgusted, but Daryl still felt terribly ashamed. Lori must have told Rick to come looking for him, and she had most certainly told him what she suspected had happened.

"Couple ribs, maybe." Daryl tried to make a fist with his right hand and found he could hardly move the hand. "M' hand, too."

"I'll get you to the farm as quickly as possible, so Hershel can have a look at you. I just want you to get your breath back, make sure you won't pass out. You're as pale as a ghost. I didn't bring any water, I'm sorry."

Daryl put his hand on his belt without thinking, and a sharp pain flashed through his ribs, like somebody kept stabbing him with a knife. He hissed, then said, "Had a flask…"

Rick looked around, then got up and went back to where he'd found Daryl on the ground and picked something up. He reappeared a moment later with Daryl's bottle and handed it to him.

"Thanks." Daryl took a few careful sips. His throat felt sore and parched, but the water helped. Rick sat back down. He didn't say anything for a while, and didn't look at Daryl. Daryl tried to just concentrate on his breathing, which was getting more painful.

"I didn't tell him to do… this, you know?" Rick's tone was almost pleading, but he still didn't look round. "I just told him to talk to you, I was angry that you kept disappearing. Like we don't have enough problems already…"

"I know."

Daryl kept an eye on Rick out of the periphery of his vision. Rick was still not looking at him, but now stared at the ground.

"You went on your own because you wanted to get away."

Daryl definitely didn't want to talk about it, but after a pause he said, "Yes."

Rick didn't say anything. Daryl knew he must be disgusted with him, but was grateful that he hid it well. Still, he knew what was in Rick's mind, and the longer he thought about it the more he knew that he couldn't talk to Rick about this. Or to anyone.

Daryl shifted around again. It was painful sitting on the ground. His ribs hurt so bad, every breath sent a lightning bolt through his ribcage. He shuddered, and Rick sat up, turning around and looking at him properly for the first time in minutes.

"We need to get you back. Do you think you can manage, or shall I get a car?"

The thought of being abandoned here, when he normally couldn't escape into solitude fast enough, gave Daryl a stab through the heart. He shook his head.

"Can manage."

Rick helped him to his feet. He tried not to cry out when he straightened up, but couldn't suppress a moan. He felt feverish now, and even upright couldn't seem to get enough air into his lungs. He let go of Rick and tried to take a couple of steps on his own, but his knees buckled and he would have fallen if Rick hadn't caught him.

"Easy now. Come on, we'll take it slow."

They were only a couple of miles or so from the farm but it took them almost an hour to get back. Daryl had lost track of everything outside of himself on the way, but when they approached the house and he spotted Glenn coming towards them he tried to get away from Rick.

"No…," was all he managed and Rick looked at him quizzically. But Daryl had no strength left. Rick held him upright with a firm grip and there was no escape. Glenn met them about fifty yards from the house. Daryl's eyes filled with tears. Now someone else would know of his shame. He'd half resigned himself to Hershel finding out because he knew he needed his help, but now he realized there was no stopping this. Everyone would know.

He felt so weak, and so tired all of a sudden. Without realizing it he let his body go limp, gave in to the darkness he'd been holding at bay through sheer willpower. He felt Glenn's hands briefly, helping Rick prevent him falling down, then blackness took him.


	5. Chapter 5

Daryl woke up to the sensation of softness all around him. He opened his eyes to an unfamiliar room. It was lit by a soft light coming from somewhere on his left. He could see that it was dark outside.

There was a sound of someone moving around and Daryl turned his head. It was Hershel, busying himself with something on top of the dresser. Daryl tried to shift, his mind on getting up, getting out. His body was not cooperating, it felt like he was trying to move his limbs through sand.

The old man noticed the movement and looked over. He put down the instruments he was holding and stepped towards the bed. He sat down on the edge, close to Daryl. Too close.

"Don't move around so much, you'll just make it hurt worse. I've given you something for the pain but we're running low, so enjoy it while it lasts."

He tried to take Daryl's wrist but Daryl shied away. Hershel stopped his hand in mid-air. His eyes were kind and sad.

"I just want to take your pulse."

Daryl moved his left arm back so Hershel could take it. He noticed that his other hand was bound tightly to a wooden splint. Hershel next took a stethoscope from around his neck and motioned to Daryl. "May I?"

Daryl made an assertive noise. The old man listened to his chest for what seemed like a long time. Finally he seemed satisfied.

"Sounds better. You got quite the knocking there. Those ribs and that hand especially will take a while to heal. You'll have to be patient."

Daryl was relieved when Hershel said nothing else and got off the bed.

"I'll leave you to rest now. Get some sleep while the painkillers are working. You'll be too sore for much sleep once we run out." He let himself out of the room.

Daryl stared at the ceiling. Lori, Rick, Glenn, now Hershel. He didn't really know any of them, had barely learned to tolerate being around them. And now they knew his secret, the most shameful, humiliating thing that had ever happened to him.

He would have to get away. Fuck the consequences. If this world killed him, so be it. He couldn't honestly say he cared. For now, though, he was trapped. He had no chance of slipping away unnoticed, not in the state he was in.

Daryl spotted his pants hanging over the end of the bed. Another sick feeling. Someone had actually undressed him. At least, he thought, Shane had been interrupted before he could leave spunk marks and blood all over his clothes again.

With difficulty Daryl sat up and reached for the pants. He felt in the pockets with his uninjured left hand until he found the lighter.

He looked at the spot on his left arm that he had burned a couple of days ago. Nobody seemed to have spotted it when they had taken his shirt and pants off, or at least Hershel hadn't bandaged it up. The burns looked red and puffy. They had clearly become infected.

Daryl pressed on them hard with his right thumb, the only finger he could move on that hand. He thought that maybe just aggravating the old burns might be enough to crowd out the shame and pain that was pounding in his skull.

It wasn't enough. The sound of his own thoughts was still deafening, telling him over and over how much of a failure he was. In the past that voice had sounded like his pa, or sometimes like Merle. Now it was talking to him in Shane's hateful tone.

Daryl flicked the lighter on automatically. His left hand was shaking a little but he managed to keep the flame alive for several minutes. He briefly contemplated just holding the fire to his skin directly, but he was always afraid to set something alight when he did that. And the thought of his mum dying after setting fire to her own bed usually held him back.

When he thought the metal must be hot enough, and the whole lighter felt warm in his hand he let go of the switch and immediately pressed the lighter to his right arm. The voice in his head dimmed, but he couldn't actually feel the heat. He waited half a minute then pulled the lighter away and repeated the procedure. After the third time the words in his head were no longer discernible, and the voice was barely a murmur. The lighter actually stuck to his arm when he pulled it away this time, and some of the skin came away with it.

Like it sometimes did once he'd crossed an invisible line Daryl finally noticed the pain from the burns. All of a sudden the sensations assaulted him like a tidal wave, pushing away the other aches, and silencing all thought. At once exquisite and terrifying, the pain held Daryl in its thrall. He let his body sink back onto the mattress and curled up. He didn't sleep, but the trance-like state of no thinking and no feeling outside the bubble of self-inflicted pain was enough for now.


	6. Chapter 6

Hershel sighed and sank down into his favorite armchair. He rubbed his eyes with one hand, then regarded the three people sitting across the coffee table from him. Rick thought he looked exhausted.

"I've given him the penultimate dose of painkillers we had left over from Carl. He'll be all right. Well, at least his injuries will heal. That break in his hand is nasty, and I have no way of setting it right. He might not have completely normal use of that hand, but I didn't think I should tell him that just now."

He looked at Rick. "You said Shane did this?" When Rick nodded Hershel added, "But why would he?"

Rick looked at Lori, who looked back at him, her gaze troubled. Rick decided on the spot that none of the others needed to know quite as much as him and Lori. It would serve no purpose and would only make it harder for them to help Daryl. And Rick wanted nothing more than help, but he didn't have the faintest clue what he could do, yet.

He had to tell Hershel and the others something of what had happened, though, to get them to help him protect Daryl from Shane in future. Rick looked at Glenn, then at Hershel.

"Shane is dangerous. Something's... made him lose part of himself. He never used to be like that, or maybe he just hid it well. I don't know any more." Now it was Rick's turn to rub his eyes. "I just know that he can't be trusted to keep his anger in check.

"Hershel, I don't know if Daryl will agree to this, but I will try my best to convince him. Can he stay in the house as long as we're here? He can't be in that field on his own any longer."

Hershel nodded. Rick thought the old man looked a little suspicious and had a feeling that Hershel had guessed more than he led on. Maybe he'd seen injuries on Daryl that were incongruous with just being beaten up.

"What will you do about Shane?" Glenn hadn't said much since he'd helped bring Daryl inside, but he'd looked concerned ever since. "And do we have to worry about him around everybody else, too?"

Rick shook his head. "I don't know, not yet. I'll have to try and speak with him. I don't think he'll do anything now that he knows I am keeping an eye on him, but I can't be completely sure." He looked at each of the others in turn. "Let's just be extra careful, ok?"

The others nodded.

Rick sighed and got up. "Come on, everyone, let Hershel get some rest. I'll look in on Shane on our way back, maybe I can talk some sense into him."

Somehow, Rick doubted this very much. But he had to at least try.


End file.
